Jackie Burkhart: An Oxymoron
by OmNomNomAttack
Summary: She's the Queen Bee. The head cheerleader. The biggest bitch. That's not all she's wanted to be... Not even close. Warnings: Angst. Pairings: Jackie/Fez, Jackie/Hyde, Jackie/Kelso. Part Two of: Underneath that Tough Exterior


Rain splattered against the clear windows of a small pink bedroom. In, said bedroom, were mountains upon mountains of stuffed animals, unicorns, ABBA records and mascara stain tissues. A built in wardrobe stood against the far end of the room, beside the white wooden doors. A desk with an array of pencils and pens, all with varying degrees of pink and fluffy-ness, stood against the East wall if you look through the window. On the West wall, a large bed, surrounded by a canopy of silk.

On this bed, a young girl, no more than 17, with chocolate hair in waves about her face, wiped another blackened tear from her eyes, muttering her worries about make up and streaking as her right hand quivered, pen poised in its grip over the page of a book.

Her lips moved soundlessly, as she mouthed the words she wrote, stopping every so often to wipe another tear away, cutting its bleak journey short. Jackie Burkhart tried to console herself, tried to tell herself that pouring out her feelings into a diary would help relieve some of the tension. Less tension meant better sleep, and better sleep meant none of those awful bags under her eyes.

She closed the little pink book and threw it across the room, sliding it across the desk before hitting the wall with a dull thump. Jackie, on shaking legs, stood up from her bed, brushing aside the pink silk with a wave of her thin hand. She dipped her head as she placed ABBA's _Mama Mia_ onto her shiny, new record player that her mother brought her back from Mexico.

Jackie tried to block that thought from her mind, and immerse herself in the soothing tones of the admirable four. She felt the hot, wet tears begin to trickle down her cheeks as she looked at the little record player. Not even the warbling tones of Agnetha Faltskog to stop the thoughts that pervaded her mind.

Her father had been in prison for several months, now, bringing shame to the Burkhart household. Her mother had left her, alone, to sleep her way across Mexico. All the tequila in the world wouldn't shut out the fact that Pam Burkhart had a daughter, but oh, how she tried. The help had abandoned her once the pay stopped coming in.

Jackie was cold and alone, and she just wanted some support, so she turned to her boyfriend of two years, or so she thought, Steven Hyde. But he, like Michael, was all wrong for her. He was insensitive and crude, only doing things when she cried, screamed and begged.

Michael was no better; he cheated on her, he treated her like '_just another number'_ as such. He had such a reputation to uphold, that he got bored with her, he left her for _skanks_ in California. _Actually_, Annette was really nice (apart from that whole… 'Get off my boyfriend' incident).

Jackie and Fez began to drift apart, and she thought about this as she lay back on her bed, puling her pink dress down so it covered her thighs. Fez didn't want to be pushed; he liked to take his time and 'woo a lady'. Jackie wanted to be pushed, she wanted to have a struggle for power (_which would eventually be solved with her on top)_. Fez didn't get this and suggested they would be better apart.

Jackie went through two buckets of ice-cream and watched _Roman Holiday_ more times than she is happy to admit. For once in her life, Jackie was happy to own a pair of grey sweats. She could cry and relax, and pretend that the empty shell of a house was still her home.

Jackie's throat closed, her sobs became heaving, screaming and messy. Her nose dripped as she hunched over, tears cascading down her cheeks. Breathing became heavy and she moaned of her woes. She tried to form words, '_Why'_ teetering on the two berry coloured lips. Her voice was raspy between laborious breaths and she felt as she had for the past year or so; pain was the only constant.

At first, it was a stabbing, burning pain. She knew she would be forever alone; it wasn't her nature, but it was inevitable. Jackie Burkhart saw herself as personable, her hair and make up were always perfect, her clothes complimented her figure perfectly. Her eyes were like two stars, shining orbs of wisdom. But in her heart, Jackie knew that she was really, only, cruel kindness. A symphony of paradoxes; An Oxymoron.

Even when Forman returned from Africa, he went to Madison University, but every other moment of the group's life (when it wasn't occupied by extra curricular activities) was spent in the basement. If Jackie had a dollar for every time Mr Forman threatened 'The eighty-or-so dumbasses mooching off his retirement' to put his foot in their asses, Jackie would be… well… richer.

Thinking of the Formans made her smile; they were a second family to her. She had run crying into his arms no less than three times, and even though he didn't always like it, just the fact that he didn't shove her off warmed her heart. Kitty helped her to cook food, like cookies for Steven when Michael had slept with Angie (the cookies were burned and hard, but throwing them at Eric was satisfying).

Jackie sits in her room, smiling, the tears, barely dry, salty tracks, wiped away by a velvet soft tissue. She lay on her bed, hands behind her head, a soaring feeling springing from her chest; elated, she was, by the thought of a family, a family she so desperately needed, but had been there for her, the entire time. Jackie glowed fiercely, singing loudly along to ABBA (despite some tone-deaf tendencies) knowing that when one family failed, she always had another.

For the first time in a long time, Jackie Burkhart's empty house, felt like a warm, inviting home.


End file.
